Metal Meredith

I will fully admit, I love living in the suburbs. So now, I will probably get a swift and immediate refusal letter from the ‘cool people organization’ that I have been campaigning to join for years.

Once, I lived in the city and loved it. It was my first apartment, a 12 unit building built long ago. I occupied number 5, downstairs in the back. I had a parking space outside my door. I would leave leftovers from Starbucks on the top of the garbage bins for the homeless guys that lived in my alley. I walked to the coffee shop and the local restaurant/bar on snow days, when the rest of the city was incapacitated. Phil rode his bike from his house to mine when the weather permitted.

I was in my 20s. I was childless and husbandless and worked my 40+ hour a week job. I loved being where all the action was. Now that I am a wife, mother and in need of diapers and earache drops at 10 at night, being a cool kid never meant so little.

A new Target opened up on October 14th, less than .5 miles from my house. I can only listen to one song on the iPod before landing at the front doors. I watched the darn thing being built for months and months. Vivienne commented each time we passed it. We packed up the family on grand opening day, drove the 3 minutes it took to get there and took a look. I took pictures, Vivienne acted like a goober, Phil tried to convince me to buy a plasma TV and remote helicopter, and Henry ate Cheerios in his stroller. We went down as many isles as the kids could handle. It was great.

I realized shortly after that I love the suburbs. I do. I freely admit it. I love being able to jump in the car and get gas, diapers, food, furniture, a tan, a cell phone, a manicure, screws, and a super jumbo 50 roll pack of toilet paper within a 10 mile area. Urban sprawl sucks and I don’t see the need for one more strip mall with a Verizon Wireless, tanning salon and nail place. But I am a total liar if I didn’t admit to doing a giddy happy dance when I saw that an Old Navy is coming near my house. I dare any of the cool city kids to promise they wouldn’t drive the 25 minutes it will take them to peruse the new Whole Foods that will be opening 10 minutes from my house.

We went to the Apple Festival today near Charlottesville. Phil and I fantasized about living on one of the farms, in the rolling, plush hills of western Virginia. It all looked so peaceful and serene and quiet. Then Vivienne whined about being hungry as she watched Dora from the back seat, Henry needed a bottle and a nap and Phil was telling me about needing a better wireless connection. Then we headed back, happily. 

When we moved in, we knew we would be replacing the kitchen floor. Therefore, we were less than careful with it. It had things permanently stuck to it, paints spilled, linoleum ripped up, etc. Finally, after 2.5 years and a 5 foot pile of tile boxes living next to the fridge, we did it!

We started with this:

(Old Oreo found under Fridge - gross, I know)

(Original move in look)

Please take note that it is a faux brick pattern. Even better, it isn’t textured, but it is an actual photo of brick that is repeated over and over and over.

This was how we lived for 4 days:

That’s my stove and the back of the fridge behind my sofa. It sucked.

All in all, it was SO worth it:

Poor Steve worked 3 days to put this in. It was a pain in the ass for more than just us. But from where we stand, it was worth all the inconvenience. 

Phil and I have had the same queen sized bed for about 7 years now. Shortly before Henry was born, we were in bed one Sunday morning when Vivienne climbed in and proceeded to take up 50% of the space. We then realized that we would need to upgrade in order to fit 4 of us on those lazy Sunday mornings.

Before:

Our old bed became like a giant, crooked canoe. Phil, who snoring sometimes can sound like road repair, sleeps on the side and I sleep right next to him so he doesn’t roll over. Our poor bed paid the price for that. We found a super new bed frame and mattress on Craigslist for cheap cheap cheap!!

It only took us 30 minutes to set up the bed. However, it took us about an hour to get the mattress up the stairs. When it landed on the bed frame, we both collapsed and ‘ooohed’ and ‘ahhhhed’ at the comfort. I brought out my super, new, fancy sheets and my fluffier than fluffy new duvet and we slept like logs.

New Bed:

Last night, about 4am, nature called. When I was coming back into the room, I slammed my little toe into the corner of the bed frame at full force. I cussed, hopped a few times and collapsed into bed. I groaned, rolled back and forth and tried my best to ignore the throbbing. Except I noticed that my foot was wet. Super.

I hobbled into the bathroom where I bled all over the rug and floor. I grabbed a wash cloth and hopped back into the bedroom where I had to wake a dead-to-the-world Phil and ask him to dress my wounds. My husband is wonderful in the fact that there was not one moan, heavy sigh or bitchy comment to me waking him up at 4am. It felt like I had hit my toe with a hammer. But in reality, I only split my toenail about 3/4 of the way down.

Seriously, I love the bed to death. Why does it have to try and kill me? Phil suggested those lights found on airplane isles to help us see where the bed is. I think I need to wear steel toed shoes back and forth to the bathroom from now on.

As many of you know, we moved in to a 1977 ugly house almost 2 years ago. Since then, we have been taking on some minor and major projects to get the house more contemporary and less, well, colonial.

One of the things I have complained about was the ancient over the stove microwave. It was black and bulky and too low. The vent was super noisy and didn’t do that great of a job. The light kept going out more than any light should. Finally, we stopped putting in new bulbs and just took our chances cooking under the dark hood.

When we went to Europe last March, my mom accidentally pulled the handle off. It was a previous wound, gone undetected, that had been fixed more than once. After that, I did it about 5 more times.

My mom gave us a gift certificate to Best Buy for Christmas in order to replace the relic. And replace it we did!

It has been a long time since I bought a microwave. In fact, I have never bought one for more than around $40. You can imagine what one can get for $200 these days. Phil helped me pick out a sleek stainless steel model with more room than our refrigerator. He liked it because the vent door slowly opens and closes when you turn it on.

The first night I used it, it yelled at me. I was defrosting some meat when it stopped, beeped a few times and displayed the words “TURN THE MEAT OVER”. Um, ok ok, calm down. Then, we wanted to have some broccoli the other night and it asked me if it was frozen or fresh. When I responded, it told me to put it in a dish, add some water and just press start. The microwave KNEW when the broccoli was done and just stopped. Same with frozen vegetables.

Want some Nachos? It can not only heat them up, but will tell you how to make them: “Layer tortilla chips on a plate. Add shredded cheese. Press start”.

I know it is a silly thing, but this appliance has now become my best friend in the house. If only it could make me some money, I think Phil might have a new rival.